Tess Gerritsen - Vanish

The Die Is Cast.

Beneath it was a time and date and a telephone number with a 617 area code. Boston.

The phrase could be just a coincidence, she thought. It could be two lovers arranging a furtive meeting. Or a drug pickup. Most likely it had nothing at all to do with Olena and Joe and Mila.

Heart thumping, she picked up the kitchen telephone and dialed the number in the ad. It rang. Three times, four times, five times. No answering machine picked up, and no voice came on the line. It just kept ringing until she lost count. Maybe it’s the phone of a dead woman.

“Hello?” a man said.

She froze, her hand already poised to hang up. She snapped the receiver back to her ear.

“Is anyone there?” the man said, sounding impatient.

“Hello?” Jane said. “Who is this?”

“Well, who’s this ? You’re the one calling.”

“I’m sorry. I, uh, was given this number, but I didn’t get a name.”

“Well, there’s no name on this line,” the man said. “It’s a public pay phone.”

“Where are you?”

“Faneuil Hall. I was just walking by when I heard it ringing. So if you’re looking for someone in particular, I can’t help you. Bye.” He hung up.

She stared down again at the ad. At those four words.

The Die Is Cast.

Once again, she reached for the phone and dialed.

“Weekly Confidential,” a woman answered. “Classifieds.”

“Hello,” said Jane. “I’d like to place an ad.”

“You should have talked to me first,” said Gabriel. “I can’t believe you just did this on your own.”

“There was no time to call you,” said Jane. “Their deadline for ads was five P.M. today. I had to make a decision right then and there.”

“You don’t know who’s going to respond. And now your cell phone number will be in print.”

“The worst that can happen is I’ll get a few crank calls, that’s all.”

“Or you get sucked into something a lot more dangerous than we realize.” Gabriel tossed the tabloid down on the kitchen table. “We have to set this up through Moore. Boston PD can screen and monitor the calls. This needs to be thought out first.” He looked at her. “Cancel it, Jane.”

“I can’t. I told you, it’s too late.”

“Jesus. I run over to the field office for two hours, and come home to find my wife’s playing dialing for danger in our kitchen.”

“Gabriel, it’s only a two-line ad in the personals. Either someone calls me back, or no one takes the bait.”

“What if someone does?”

“Then I’ll let Moore handle it.”

“You’ll let him?” Gabriel gave a laugh. “This is his job, not yours. You’re on maternity leave, remember?”

As if to emphasize the point, a loud wail suddenly erupted from the nursery. Jane went to retrieve her daughter, and found Regina had, as usual, kicked her way free of the blanket and was flailing her fists, outraged that her demands were not being instantly met. No one’s happy with me today, thought Jane as she lifted Regina from the crib. She directed the baby’s hungry mouth to her breast and winced as little gums clamped down. I’m trying to be a good mom, she thought, I really am, but I’m tired of smelling like sour milk and talcum powder. I’m tired of being tired.

I used to chase bad guys, you know.

She carried her baby into the kitchen and stood rocking from leg to leg, trying to keep Regina content, even as her own temper was about to combust.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t cancel the ad anyway,” she said defiantly. She watched as Gabriel crossed to the phone. “Who are you calling?”

“ Moore. He takes over from here.”

“It’s my cell phone. My idea.”

“It’s not your investigation.”

“I’m not saying I need to run the show. I gave them a specific time and date. How about we all sit together that night and wait to see who calls? You, me, and Moore. I just want to be there when it rings.”

“You need to back off on this, Jane.”

“I’m already part of this.”

“You have Regina. You’re a mother.”

“But I’m not dead. Are you listening to me? I’m. Not. Dead. ”

Her words seemed to hang in the air, her fury still reverberating like a clash of cymbals. Regina suddenly stopped suckling and opened her eyes to stare at her mother in astonishment. The refrigerator gave a rattle and went still.

“I never said you were,” Gabriel said quietly.

“But I might as well be, the way you talk. Oh, you have Regina. You have a more important job now. You need to stay home and make milk and let your brain rot. I’m a cop, and I need to go back to work. I miss it. I miss having my goddamn beeper go off.” She took a breath and sat down at the kitchen table, her breath escaping in a sob of frustration. “I’m a cop,” she whispered.

He sat down across from her. “I know you are.”

“I don’t think you do.” She wiped a hand across her face. “You don’t get who I am at all. You think you married someone else. Mrs. Perfect Mommy.”

“I know exactly who I married.”

“Reality’s a bitch, ain’t it? And so am I.”

“Well.” He nodded. “Sometimes.”

“It’s not like I didn’t warn you.” She rose to her feet. Regina was still strangely quiet, still staring at Jane as though Mommy had suddenly become interesting enough to watch. “You know who I am, and it’s always been take it or leave it.” She started out of the kitchen.

“Jane.”

“ Regina needs her diaper changed.”

“Damn it, you’re running away from a fight.”

She turned back to him. “I don’t run from fights.”

“Then sit down with me. Because I’m not running from you, and I don’t plan to.”

For a moment she just looked at him. And she thought: This is so hard. Being married is so hard and scary, and he’s right about my wanting to run. All I really want to do is retreat to a place where no one can hurt me.

She pulled out the chair and sat down.

“Things have changed, you know,” he said. “It’s not like before, when we didn’t have Regina.”

She said nothing, still angry that he’d agreed she was a bitch. Even if it was true.

“Now if something happens to you, you’re not the only one who gets hurt. You have a daughter. You have other people to think about.”

“I signed up for motherhood, not prison.”

“Are you saying you’re sorry we had her?”

She looked down at Regina. Her daughter was staring up, wide-eyed, as though she understood every word being said. “No, of course not. It’s just…” She shook her head. “I’m more than just her mother. I’m me, too. But I’m losing myself, Gabriel. Every day, I feel like I’m disappearing a little more. Like the Cheshire Cat in Wonderland. Every day it seems harder and harder to remember who I was. Then you come home and get ticked off at me for placing that ad. Which, you have to admit, is a brilliant idea. And I think: Okay, now I’m really lost. Even my own husband has forgotten who I am.”

He leaned forward, his gaze burning a hole in her. “Do you know what it was like for me, when you were trapped in that hospital? Do you have any idea? You think you’re so tough. You strap on a weapon and suddenly you’re Wonder Woman. But if you get hurt, you’re not the only one who bleeds, Jane. I do, too. Do you ever think of me?”

She said nothing.

He laughed, but it came out the sound of a wounded animal. “Yeah, I’m a pain in the ass, always trying to protect you from yourself. Someone has to do it, because you are your own worst enemy. You never stop trying to prove yourself. You’re still Frankie Rizzoli’s despised little sister. A girl. You’re still not good enough for the boys to play with, and you never will be.”